Halfway to Paradise
by LeeT911
Summary: She wishes it were love, but she knows there’s no such thing. And it’s not perfect, what they have, but it’s enough. [slight shoujoai]


Halfway to Paradise

_Noir_ fanfiction by LeeT911

- - -

Mireille comes home to find dinner waiting for her. There's a plate set out on the table, the faint sheen of plastic wrap visible in the moonlight. The lights are out in the apartment, and she leaves her shoes by the entrance to avoid their clicking against the floor. She makes her way towards the kitchen in the dark, automatically stepping around the creaky floorboards. This place hasn't been home for that long, but she already knows all the details, things like which utensil drawer scrapes when you close it too fast, or how the bathroom door sticks unless you give the knob a half-turn in the wrong direction first. She already knows all the things that used to mean life and death but are now just to keep from waking her roommate.

She pauses by the bedroom, peering through the half-open door. There's a bundle on the bed, wrapped in blankets, breathing slowly. Mireille wants to say something, but she doesn't. Kirika has to get up early for class tomorrow. She's already been late twice this week. She'd wanted to go with Mireille tonight too, but the blonde had refused. It wouldn't do any good to keep Kirika up all night, and these were things that could only be done at night. Besides, they were handled easily enough by one.

Mireille watches a while longer, counting the rhythmic breaths, before reaching in to close the door. She feels protective, all of a sudden, and it makes her chest tighten in a way shouldn't. Silently, she resumes her journey across the apartment.

The white glow of the kitchen lights makes her blink, and the instant she reopens her eyes, she discovers that Kirika has cleaned the stove and countertops in addition to fixing dinner. Even the refrigerator has been wiped down, sparkling silver and white in a way it hadn't since the day they moved in.

Taped to the microwave, she finds a business card from the bakery down the street, and she grins. She knows what that means. Sure enough, there's a cake box in the refrigerator, and a quick peek inside confirms her suspicions: cheesecake. Still smiling to herself, she unwraps her meal and places it in the microwave, wincing at every beep as she pushes the buttons.

A few minutes later, pasta and vegetables gone, Mireille sits contemplating a second slice of cake. It's already been cut, the knife still in her hand, though she hasn't moved the slice to her plate yet. She's full, but still tempted.

"Should I make tea?." Kirika's standing by the doorway, in her sleepwear, though she does have Mireille's nightshirt draped over her bare arms. Her features are soft but not distant, her appearance rumpled but not sleepy.

"Will you have some too?"

The younger girl nods, moving to start the kettle as she pulls two mugs from the cupboard.

Mireille in the meantime, decides against gluttony and puts the cake away. "Did I wake you?"

"When you came home."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." And they both know it. They're both too careful about that sort of thing, waking at the slightest sound or tiniest disturbance.

For a moment, all is quiet as they busy themselves cleaning up, and it's just like every other night, only later. They wash the dishes and wipe the table, prepare the things they'll use for breakfast tomorrow morning And when everything is ready, they sit together, mugs in hand, and stare at the kettle.

"Is it done?" Kirika asks suddenly, without looking up, and they both know it's not the tea she means.

"Yes," Mireille answers, "they won't bother us anymore."

The Japanese girl nods as they lapse into silence again. By unspoken agreement, they slide their chairs over until their legs are touching, taking comfort in each other's warmth. "I'm glad you're back." Kirika says, her piercing gaze locking onto unsuspecting blue orbs.

Mireille inhales sharply, unable to look away, her stomach fluttering. And she wishes it were love, but she knows there's no such thing. Still, she wants to say something, something dreamy and gentle, something to keep the fairytale alive, but her thoughts are interrupted by the shrill whistle of the kettle.

- - -

An hour later, Mireille emerges from the shower and Kirika is already back in bed. They haven't said another word to each other. That's just the way things are between them.

Her eyes linger on Kirika's back as she reaches for the light. Beyond the window, a faint sprinkling of stars shimmers above the Parisian skyline. Mireille runs a hand through her hair and pads over to the bed. She checks that her weapon is nearby before slipping beneath the sheets. Kirika curls up against her.

The blonde sighs, closing her eyes in the darkness. It's not perfect, what they have, but it's enough. She can still be happy here, halfway to paradise.

- - -

END


End file.
